Elizabeth
by Sierra Nicole
Summary: The story of a blind, English Toreador Harpy, with flashbacks to the Dark Ages.


Author's Note:  The White Wolf terms are rather obviously not mine, but the characters are.  This is the backstory as written for one of my "babies."  Hope you enjoy it!  Please tell me what you think…

            "And who is this you bring me, Andrew?" she said, without looking up from her book.  It always unnerved him that she seemed to sense his presence with so little effort.  An advantage of having been blind for several centuries, not to mention the heightened senses granted her by the Blood.  Interestingly enough, not many knew that she _was_ blind.  She managed to go through her unlife seemingly without hindrance.  True, his presence and aid contributed greatly, but still Andrew admired her strength of character and ability to function "normally", whatever normal was to vampires.

            "This is Johnathan Debussey, madam, the Ventrue you asked me to bring to you."  Her head raised from the book in her lap and she turned her face to where she knew they must be standing.

            "Step closer, Mr. Debussey," she said, in that soft, lilting voice.  Unsurprisingly, he obliged, never looking away from her face.  She had the kind of face that could have inspired any artist to works of phenomenal beauty.  Prefect, porcelain skin smoothed over fine and proud features once the hallmark of nobility.  And her eyes were the deepest blue.  Andrew was particularly fond of blue-eyed women, but even he had never seen eyes like hers.  Ironically, her eyes were the one part of her that had stopped functioning a long, long time ago.  The Ventrue approached her as if in a daze, and stopped abruptly when she lifted the fingers of one well-manicured hand.  "Excellent," she said as she closed the book and set it on the low table next to her chair.  "Now, Mr. Debussey, do you know why I have requested your presence?"  Andrew saw him shake his head and try to maintain a calm expression.  "Do speak up, dear, I so love to hear the male voice."  She smiled, which Andrew debated the wisdom of.  In a human, Andrew would have said the man was about to start drooling, but the Cainite's face was a battleground of expressions; rapt attention, nervousness, perhaps even some fear.  Yes, his mistress was quite a disarming woman.  A shame she could not see the way people reacted to her.

            "I…cannot imagine, madam," the Ventrue managed to fumble out.  Her smile turned into a bit of a smirk, and she stood up from where she had been sitting.

            "I must be frank, Mr. Debussey, my business is not truly with you.  Oh, it does definitely concern you, but only indirectly.  You are the childe of David Wivern, are you not?"  

The Ventrue caught himself halfway through a nod.  "I am,"

            She walked over to the window and pushed aside the heavy drapes as if looking outside.  "And how is David?  I have not seen him in quite a while."  True enough, she had never 'seen' David.  But the last time she had been in his company was eight hundred years ago.  'Quite a while,' indeed.

            "He is well."  Debussey managed to speak with a little more confidence now that he was no longer faced with her unearthly beauty.  However, his eyes did wander along her breathtakingly elegant form.  Andrew held in a chuckle.  This Debussey was so typical.  Every man who had ever seen his mistress had reacted the same way.  And every man, for some indiscernible reason, had left her presence with the impression that he could possibly have a chance at winning her favor.  Men courted her and her fancy at every turn, and she was polite and gracious in accepting all forms of flattery.  Andrew quietly slipped into a chair to watch the progression of this one's efforts.  "David never mentioned that he knew you, madam.  I mean, I am sure that everyone in the city knows you, but you sound…as if you...have…" he fell to mumbling and assumed a bashful grin.

            She glanced over her shoulder and could hardly hide an impish grin.  "Some history?  A valiant effort at subtlety, Mr. Debussey.  Yes, most interesting."  The Cainite blushed furiously, then tried to compose himself as if she could have seen him.  Oh, she did enjoy these little games.  "I knew David a very long time ago.  I was most surprised when I learned he had taken up residence in the city.  However, he has not called upon me, and I was wondering why."  She strolled back to her chair and sank gracefully into it, curling her long legs up under her.  "Do have a seat," she motioned to the chair directly across from her.  Debussey glanced at it questioningly, then slid over to it and sat in what looked like all one hasty motion.  "Now, I could hardly ask him outright, but perhaps you can answer a few of my questions?"  She gently arched an eyebrow and looked toward him intently.  How the woman could put such emotion into eyes that saw nothing was beyond Andrew.  "I was wondering, how has he been?  We parted on unfortunate terms, and I haven't heard from him since."

            Debussey took a moment to shake himself out of his surprise.  _David? He thought, __get himself on unfortunate terms with a woman like this?  That's not like David at all.  "Well, I don't know when it was that you last saw him, but as long as I've known him, he's been very well.  He throws himself into his work, and has little emotion for anything else, it seems."_

            "What kind of work is he doing now?" she made it sound so offhand.  If only this neonate knew how much she burned inside for every scrap he could give her.  Debussey was oblivious and began visibly relaxing, sitting back farther in his chair, resting his elbows on its arms, unaware of the nature of her interrogation.

            "Oh, he's heavily into the stock market, as you might have guessed.  He owns a few art galleries, as well.  In fact, that's what brought us here, he just opened another one in the city."

            "Did he really, now?  That seems suited more to my tastes than his, but I suppose it brings some color and life to his existence.  It does get quite boring after a few hundred years.  But I'm interrupting, do go on.  Tell me how you met him."

            "Well, I worked in an insurance firm, and one day David called and wanted coverage for his newest gallery.  That's how he does all his business during the day, over the phone.  Well, you understand about that."  He managed a self-deprecating laugh as she just smiled, putting him more at ease every moment.  "I myself am a bit of an art aficionado, and he invited me to come see the gallery.  He said he could arrange a special tour after hours for the man who had sold him the policy to protect all the pieces in the exhibit.  Well, he hardly needed to persuade me, so I went the next day and met him and saw the pieces he had, and it was incredible…" the Cainite spoke on and on about David and his galleries, with only a few interruptions from the lady, mostly concerning locations and dates.  Debussey was not giving her any information she could not have gotten through a little research, but what she gained this way was worth far more.  She was making David's childe comfortable around her, making him see her as non-threatening.  Yes, a most precious tool, a childe.  David would no doubt hear of this encounter, but Debussey would pass it off as nothing more than just a polite visit, with the lady only concerned over his well-being since they last met.  Now, if this childe could only make David _truly_ believe it, then there would be nothing further to worry about.  However, that was unlikely.  She would have to continue planting tiny seeds and carefully gathering information, until she had enough to finally meet David himself.


End file.
